Baa Ram Ewe
by Phoenix2qt
Summary: The proper version. A clone vampire flees to a desolate moor, plenty of sheep and a special blend of tea courtesy of Walter.


They had cornered the clone. He was trapped in a tumbled down stone building. Weakened from his flight he was crouched in the corner, his only defence were his huge guns. He could barely raise them. The resurrection hadn't been completed. He had needed the blood of a female vampire to regenerate completely. He had tried to attack Hellsing and get Seras, but Arucard had thwarted him. Now they stood somewhere in the middle of the Scottish highlands. They were surrounded by bemused sheep, who bleated incessantly. Arucard was losing his patience. He raised his gun to finish the bastard off, but little fluffy lambs were jumping around him. Plus it was raining. He hated rain. It made him damp and uncomfortable. He had the unfortunate tendency to smell like wet dog after a while. Of course it was Cromwells fault. The clone laughed as a lamb knocked into Arucard's legs. It kept head butting him playfully. It's little black face peering up at him. Its long tail wagging like a dog. Arucard kicked it out of the way, Seras protesting.

"Master that was cruel" she seemed shocked. He was a ruthless killer; it wasn't his job to play nicey nicey to a bunch of disneyfied creatures. The clone was taunting him now. Arucard drew his gun again and aimed straight for the bastard's head. He sighed in exasperation as a lamb knocked his arm and the bullet plummeted harmlessly into the brick wall.

Integra was getting annoyed. What was taking Arucard so long to shoot? She sat in her car watching the scene. She had exchanged her sleek town car for a ridiculously uncomfortable four by four. They needed it to get over the rough ground. It was freezing. The heaters were up full blast and she was wrapped in a blanket. Walter sat next to her pouring tea out of a red thermos flask. She felt ridiculously like a tourist. Though who would visit this godforsaken country? All it contained was a few sheep. There was a tap on her window, Maxwell stood there wrapped up in a black trench coat his boyish face split in an evil grin. Alexander was already striding towards Arucard. Integra wound down her window.

"What are you doing here Maxwell?" scorn in her voice. "Shouldn't you be kissing the pope's ass right now"

He merely smiled "I'm here to silence The clone, Hellsing seems to be incapable of doing it" Before Integra could reply Walter pulled out a blue thermos smiling politely.

"Would you like some tea? It is rather cold out there" he passed the flask out to Maxwell. Maxwell unscrewed the flask and took a long swig.

"It's cold" Maxwell poured it onto the grass.

"It also contains a powerful laxative, I've been saving it in the car for an occasion like this" Walter whispered to Integra. She grinned as she watched Maxwell grip his stomach and race to the nearest clump of bushes. "Maybe we should move the car?" Walter enquired. They could hear the loud rumbling as the laxative attacked his stomach. His weak curses were punctuated by loud farts. Integra struggled not to laugh, her icy visage cracking.

The lambs were attacking Anderson. A new person for them to play with. They danced around him; playfully head butting him, and bleating. They ducked under his long jacket and played hide and seek between his blades. Their scrambling little legs kicking him. Anderson was getting increasingly pissed off as he swung his swords around. The lambs leapt over them, baaing merrily. He swore, his guttural scotch accent enticing more sheep to flock round him, nibbling at his jacket and knocking him to the ground. The lambs danced merrily over him, bouncing happily. They chewed on his blonde hair and dislodged his glasses. Seras started screeching with laughter as a ewe started chewing on the flimsy gold frame of his spectacles. The crunching of glass being trodden on and the scraping of the ewes teeth on the metal. Anderson struggled to his feet, his vision impaired.

"Stand still you bastards!" he bellowed, swords flying everywhere. Dull thuds as they sunk into the peat or embedded in tree trunks. A few rattled off the stone walls. The sheep fled, swords narrowly missing them. The lambs bleating indignantly as they stumbled over stones.

Arucard grinned evilly. He would have some fun with the Paladin.

"Police girl, deal with the clone, he's weak enough even for you" he didn't see the hurt in her eyes as he turned back to Anderson. Anderson couldn't see properly. His eyes were weak. He saw only blurs. But his other senses were heightened, he could hear the thud of Arucard's boots, he could sense the air moving. He could smell the cold metal of the guns. He could see a red blur. He pulled a sword out and held it ready. He wasn't going to let this vampire take advantage of him. Arucard advanced towards him grinning. He disappeared, reappearing behind Anderson, Anderson turned, but again he disappeared. He played this game for some time, Anderson spinning around grabbing at thin air. Arucard always one step ahead, teasing him, taunting him. Strings of curses spewed from the Paladin's mouth as he became more and more enraged.

Seras stood shaking in front of the clone, his face held that familiar evil smirk. Looking away she aimed her huge cannon and shot him. There was a sizzling noise as the shell ate into the clone's flesh, burning, the molten liquid inside surging through his dried up veins. The shell of his body turning to dust. A dull grey paste on the grass of the moor.

The paladin whirled round; he could sense Arucard smiling sickly he lunged forward, hearing the pleasant sound of the sword slicing through flesh. The pungent smell of digested blood seared his nostrils. The guttural sound of Arucard's laugh.

"Well done Paladin" there was an edge to his voice. Anderson reached into a pocket of his robes, fumbling like an elderly gent. All sorts of things fell out of his pocket, some sweets, and a piece of paper, some tiny little figurines and finally a slender case. He grinned in triumph as he flicked open the case and a pair of gold framed, rectangular glasses glinted in the light. Putting them on he blinked owlishly as he surveyed the scene around him. Arucard pulling the sword from his abdomen, Seras shivering in the cold drizzle, the yelling of a distant Maxwell. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He could hear Maxwell calling him; he could smell the putrid stench of Maxwell's past four meals, digested. Sighing he walked towards him, listening to Arucard make jibes about his religion. Vampires. Mindless heathens the lot of them.


End file.
